


Snip

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Demonstuck [11]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Demonstuck, F/M, demon Kurloz, healthy relationship, human meulin, she's deaf, slight blood/body horror?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 11:56:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15291003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: Kurloz finally goes home after the last fight, and finds Meulin waiting for him.





	Snip

You let go of the demon and the Messiah's hands, _step_ away from them. Into your own kitchen, mentally slamming down the wards around your dwelling the very instant that you are fully material in that place. You have had _enough_ interaction with motherfucking hunters in the last couple days; the absolute last thing you want them is for them to track you down here. 

It's a motherfucking good thing you have your priorities straight, because the _second_ thing you do is stagger to the side, catching yourself on the counter and making an inarticulate noise that isn't half as muffled as it should be. Even without reaching up to check, you know that Vantas ripped out more'n half your motherfucking stitches. 

He's not the main reason you've got this much of a hurtin' on, though. That'd be the blows the shikigami and human got in. 

And the _stepping._

And your loathed master—no, fuck that noise; it's a _blasphemy_ to put that fuck above you, the prophet, the Speaker to the Dead—that ugly white _motherfucker's_ death, that's tore you up quite a bit too. Psychically more'n actually damaging your flesh, but the effect is the same. 

The effect is that you're leaning heavily on the motherfucking counter, more-or-less calmly controlling your breathing and hoping that you don't just take a raincheck from consciousness. If you pass out here and now, you'll lie on the tile until your body heals itself or your dumbass brother shows up and does...something. Although you can't think of anything _helpful_ he might do. 

Or—

" _Kurloz_!!" 

You wince at the sheer volume Meulin manages to produce, raising your head to look over at the door. Yep, there she is, green eyes wide and excited; the motherfucking concern hasn't even really kicked in yet, has it? She's still on "eh, that can't possibly be blood. Too much of it." 

Even as you categorize her expression she proves you one hundred fucking percent wrong. "What the holy shitballs happened to you? Your _face_!" 

_Loud_ , you sign as she steps up closer, leaning back from her attempt to touch your lips. _Got a headache._

"I just bet you do—K, you need a hospital." She manages to lower the volume a little, but not really as far as you wish she would. You consider asking her to continue with sign language, and decide against it. (You _very motherfucking briefly_ consider taking a quick dip into her skull to just scoop her words out, and mentally punch yourself in the face for considering it. Just fucking no.) While you are considering, Meulin catches your head in both hands, cradling your face and making you look down at her. "Holy _shit,_ what'd you do? Fight a bear?" 

Since she's obviously not looking at your hands, you reply the other way. _**Nah. Two brothers with swords and a motherfucking demon, is all. It'll heal.**_

Meulin shakes her head just a little as you send the words, eyes unfocusing like they always do when she's listening with her head. "A demon." 

You nod. She smacks your chest, not gently.

"You _dick_! You didn't tell me you were doing anything; what if I wanted to come?" 

_**Killing them wasn't exactly on the motherfucking agenda, sweetheart.**_ You let your amusement come through the thoughts, but hold the pain back. No need to drop that shit on her. _**You woulda caused more of a lil' corner of chaos than we needed. I already had my hands full, dig?**_

She rolls her eyes, taking your hands and pulling you firmly to sit down so that she can actually reach your face to examine it. "Fuck you, I can restrain myself." 

You chuckle through the remaining stitches, and wince as another one separates and pulls out of the skin, sending blood dripping down your chin. _Shit._

Meulin notices, of course. She makes a soft, subconscious sound, touching your face oh-so-gently. "That's a mess, K..." 

_Yeah,_ you sign at her. Your hands tangle with each other as you hesitate, long fingers knotting and clenching into a doubled fist before you untangle them and ask the next question. _Think you can get them out, kitten?_

There's no motherfucking way she can know how much of a step that request is for you. Those stitches, they ain't supposed to come out when you're still breathing. Fuck, they ain't supposed to come out when you're dead either; the mirthful are meant to spend their lives and afterlives silent, mouths sewn shut by their own hands, observing all and keeping their counsel to themselves. 

But. Yeah. You're the last one who observes any of this shit, and you think that it's time for the tired old cycle to go shit itself and die. 

Meulin is watching you, eyes impossibly wide. When she speaks, her voice is too motherfucking loud again—not that she can realize that. "Are you _sure_?" 

You resist the urge to finger the scarred and tattooed skin. 

Instead, you occupy your hands by answering her. 

_Sure. Very fucking sure. Take them out._

* * *

The sensation of small tugs and the not-quite-smooth slide of thread moving through your skin isn't exactly painful, but you do end up closing your eyes and keeping 'em closed. It's less about seeing the bloody snippets of string, and more about the weird-ass look on Meulin's face. 

You kind of really regret asking her to do this fuckshit for you. Can't be motherfucking pleasant, after all; your dumb ass probably shoulda actually thought through your motherfucking impulse before you just immediately gave in to it, huh?

Eh. 

God damn. You can't just leave it at _eh._

(When the hell did you grow a motherfucking conscience?) 

_**Meulin. Kitten. You know you don't gotta do this shit, right?**_

"Oh my god." Meulin sets down the tweezers she's using to tease the cut bits of thread out of your lips with, crossing her arms and giving you a stern look. "Don't you dare back out of this, K. I wanna see you without those dumb things; you can't just turn around and say you want them back in—" 

_**Calm down, sis. The point was I can call in a motherfucking favor, get someone who's used to blood and whatever in, finish rippin' the fuckshit out.**_

She just rolls her eyes and puts her hands on your temples, leaning in to press a kiss against your forehead. "Emphasis on 'ripping', huh?" 

_**Eh.**_ You shrug, echoing the movement of your shoulders with your dreads before you remember that you're supposed to be looking human right now. Mother _fuck_. 

"See, that's what I thought. Now hold _still_ ; I still got eight and a half stitches to get rid of." 

You nod, and settle back down to do your best imitation of a statue and let her do her shit.

* * *

Meulin removes the last few stitches over the course of the next half hour or so, and immediately sends you right the fuck to the bathroom to wash your face off. When you get in there, you definitely see the rationale behind that move. 

_O-U-C-H,_ your hands spell out as you check out the fucker in the mirror. All down your chin, there's blood streaks; really motherfucking obvious on the white of the tattooed bones, less so on the unmarked patches of your dark skin, and almost blending in with the places where your face's been inked closer to black. 

There's also blood in your dreads, shockingly dark against the white hair. And on your tore-up clothes. 

You blow out a heavy breath (through your _mouth_!) and decide that even as motherfucking tired as you are, you gotta take a shower before you go pass out.

* * *

That's a solid decision, though, even if you can't be fucked to find a towel afterwards. Instead you send a pulse of air magic through your body, lean against the wall for the minute or so it takes the dizziness from that to pass, and grin down at the puddle on the floor. It's motherfucking _satisfying_ to scare an element off your bod, weird as that is. 

Meulin's curled up on your bed, having retrieved all the pillows from the floor and made a nest-ish thing out of them. She giggles, watching you rummage around in the pile of clothes next to the closet. "Y'know, if you put those away you might be able to actually find what you wanted?" 

Well, she's not wrong, but you don't feel like admitting that. Instead, you struggle into your too-loose t-shirt, then give her the official sign for _fuck you._

That gets you another giggle, and a pillow thrown at your head. You grin at the former (damn, it feels strange to not have the stitches restrict your movement, pull at the corners of your mouth every time it stretches too far) and catch the latter, tossing it back and digging out a pair of sweatpants to put on before you join Meulin on the bed. 

_Like how it looks?_ you ask her. 

"Oh, yeah." She shifts up closer, almost into your lap, and runs one finger gently across your lips. 

That actually stings. You wince a bit, too tired to hide the reaction, and she frowns and takes her hand away, blood showing red on the fingertip she touched you with. Before her expression can get all knotted up with concern and shit, you take her hand and wipe the blood off with your thumb, pulling the bit of your essence in the drop or so back into yourself so the red'll melt away without a trace.

_**Got a bit of healing to do, is all. Need a good night's sleep.**_

Meulin relaxes at the explanation for why your mouth hasn't healed as fast as it usually would, nodding and wordlessly pulling you down to lie next to her. As soon as you get all settled, she's cuddling up next to your body, trusting you to curl up around her smaller self and hold her. 

Now, trusting Kurloz Motherfucking Makara ain't always the best way to go, but for your kitten? She's one hundred percent _guaranteed_ to get whatever she expects from you. Fuck everything else, the universe and the spirit of the twin messiahs dropped her right the fuck in front of you, and you're plannin' on giving her whatever the motherfuck she wants, so long as she sticks around. 

So you arrange yourself around her, and you spend a while opening and closing your mouth, making sounds that sure as hell ain't words, just fuckin' _playing_ with your voice like you haven't been able to in centuries. 

Eventually, though, you quit that, and let Meulin's steady breathing lull you to sleep.


End file.
